HARD CANDY
by BelleDean
Summary: Vampy Edward wants Bella Swan. In fact, he's always wanted her. Only problem is, Bella Swan has only one thing on her mind these days: food. Can he convince her to make room for other savory appetites? E
1. Chapter 1 The Twinkie

**Thx to anais mark, Kcerena & Kisvakondok for taking a first look and telling me it doesn't totally stink. **

**Reamhar is betaing this. Thank you!**

**I don't own Twilight. **

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**1. ****The Twinkie**

_**At Milan Malpensa Airport some time in January…**_

The rotund derrière attached to the woman in front of me is packaged in tight black leggings; the extra large t-shirt she wears can't even cover the vastness that is her ass; it's bunched up at her hips.

I tap my Sergio Rossi boots impatiently while I wait in a never-ending line of my fellow countrymen. It feels like it's taking forever and I'm late. My eyes longingly linger on the _other_ gate; "EU Citizens Only" the sign above it reads. There's no line there.

I glance back at the people ahead of me, barely able to contain my pleasure at the sight.

"Honey," the fat lady with the large ass twangs, "do you know where your passport is?" She searches through her purple fanny pack and huffs in frustration before starting to search her other numerous other bags. "I don't see it anywhere."

"But Gertrude, you have it! I haven't even touched the goddamn thing," the guy next to her with a protruding beer belly dressed in a polo-shirt two sizes too small responds angrily, as if it be too much to ask to help search for his own passport. Instead, he hovers and stares down at her while she's crouched on the floor searching the bags for _his _passport.

Then, out of nowhere, a Tupperware container with barbeque sauce stains flies out of Gertrude's bag and lands on the floor with a clang followed by … a Twinkie!

_Holy Mary Mother of Jesus! _

First the smell of everything scrumptious that I'm not allowed to eat lingering on the plane and now this! My stomach growls and my fingers are itching.

_Go grab it! _

I haven't had one in ages and I want it. A pang of envy hits my empty stomach. It's preposterous – me, Isabella Swan, runway model extraordinaire – envious of the obese woman in front of me, but I can't help it, I am.

The red writing of the lovely Hostess wrapper entrances me and makes my gut churn … yellow soft cakey stuff with cream filling.

When the passport control officer waives to indicate that he's ready for the next person, I don't react. I should step around the couple, but I can't. My mouth is watering and drool might soon start dribbling down my chin if I don't concentrate on keeping my lips sealed.

Gertrude saves me from humiliation by stuffing the Twinkie back into her bag before exclaiming, "Look, Jerry! I found it!"

"I told you, I didn't have it!"

_What an asshole._

They shuffle with their assortment of carry-on luggage, mostly in bright colors with flowers on them, to the booth where Gertrude hands the officer their passports with a wide smile.

"Hi, how are you?" she practically yells at the dark haired man, pronouncing every syllable as if he'd have difficulty hearing her. "We're here on holiday." The officer gives her a tight-lipped smile and doesn't respond. "We're staying in your lovely country for two whole weeks. One day in Milan, two days in Florence, one day in Venice…"

She continues rattling off their entire itinerary, despite the fact that the officer has handed her back their passports and has motioned for them to move.

_Shut up, nobody gives a shit!_

"…and then we are off to Rome. Jerry here wants to see the Coliseum…"

"Senora, please," the officer interrupts her. Thankfully Jerry pulls her away by her elbow.

"Come on, Trudi, we better go get our luggage before someone steals it."

_Nobody wants your cheap, unflattering, made-in-China clothes. Your Twinkie on the other hand…_

Before I can contemplate snatching Gertrude's bag to get to her Twinkie, I step forward and hand the officer my passport. The guy flips through the worn out pages, places a stamp in a random place and hands it back to me.

I reach for the Tom Ford sunglasses perched on top of my head and slide them on, before rushing off to claim my luggage. Gertrude and Jerry have managed to push themselves between some other passengers right near the hole where the suitcases keep tumbling out.

I stand back, ignoring the masses and check my iPhone 4S.

_Izzie, where are you? In case you forgot you're staying at the Four Seasons. Call me as soon as you get there. You are booked for this afternoon_. – Felix

_Izzie, Stefano and Domenico want you. I told them you'd be there. The show starts at 3. Please hurry_. – Felix

_Izzie, I need you to call me now! Comprende? _– Felix

I'm tempted to type _I quit! And – oh, by the way – for your 411 – my name is I-S-A-B-E-L-L-A! _But fuck it. Other than being 5'10" and skinny, I have no marketable skills to speak off. Before I could contemplate college, I was conned into walking down runways. I knew there was a drawback to what they were selling me-the career most girls only dream about. _Please! _Too late for regrets now. I'm stuck returning the call of my bitchy, little agent, Felix, who has apparently booked me for the rest of the week to the highest bidder.

Besides, I'm grateful that he didn't book me for London this year. New York, followed by a week-long break, Milan and next week Paris. Then the circus is over for a while. I exhale and compose myself.

_I'm on my way, Felix! Picking up luggage right now. – Isabella,_ I reply before tossing the phone back into my Givenchy python and look for my suitcase.

The crowd around the belt starts thinning out, but my nondescript black suitcase is nowhere to be seen.

My gaze stumbles and halts upon a tall figure leaning casually against a column and staring in my direction. I noticed him on the plane before. He sat one row behind me to be exact, but due to the lack of face-to-face time, I didn't get to appreciate him fully. He's complete and utter Man-Candy. The face is chiseled perfection, his body lean and well proportioned. And the clothes…

Rag & Bone jeans, Belstaff jacket and Lanvin sneakers – what a fashion whore! Felix would approve and attempt to devour him whole.

Something seems strangely familiar about him. I'm certain I've seen those dark, brooding eyes somewhere before, but where? Possibly a male model on his way to fashion week … young, tall and sweet enough, I think, seizing up his impressive frame. I flip mentally through the men's wear ads, but come up blank. Nope, that's not where I've seen him before.

I narrow my eyes to inspect him further. He keeps on looking over making me worry something's out of place in my ensemble, though I know that's impossible. Everything – from my freshly highlighted hair to this season's boots – is in perfect harmony and the size zero clothes hang on me like they were designed to. Squirming under his intense gaze, I shift my eyes to the luggage carrousel; still no sign of my suitcase and only three pieces of luggage are circling.

Man-Candy and I are the only two people left standing near the luggage belt. I wonder what he's waiting for, when I pull the sunglasses away from my tired eyes and search for the airline counter. One corner of his mouth twitches up when our eyes collide for a brief moment and, as if on cue, my phone starts vibrating.

"Yes, Felix," I answer, running to the counter to inform the shit airline that they've managed lose my luggage – yet again!

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**Thank you for reading. **


	2. Chapter 2  Creme Brulee

**Thx to anais mark, Kcerena & Kisvakondok for taking a first look …**

**Reamhar is betaing this. Thank you!**

**I don't own Twilight. **

* * *

**2. Crème Brûlée**

_**Three days later at the Four Seasons Hotel Milan…**_

3 apples, 15 pieces of lettuce, 10 carrot sticks, 6 slices of bread (whole grain, but still…Felix would spank me if he knew!), 15 diet cokes, and 20 cups of coffee (black, no sugar); total calories consumed in three days: roughly 2000.

_Of course_, I'm still hungry. Three days have passed. The gaping hole, right around where my stomach should be, keeps on getting bigger, threatening to swallow me. The smell that has been wafting around me ever since I arrived in Milan is not making it any easier to stick to my strict regime of denial. The aromas change depending on the time of day, but they're always delicious. This morning, the mouthwatering scent of freshly fried donuts started flowing through my open window. I doubt anybody in this hotel is frying donuts, so I concluded it must have been a scent-hallucination brought on by my perpetually empty stomach.

I light a cigarette to kill my ever-increasing appetite.

Fashion week is only halfway over, and I feel like something has sucked the life force out of me. Hours of sleep so far: 12. Number of shows appeared in during the past three days: 15.

Standing in the elevator on my way to the hotel lobby, I dab an extra dose of Clé de Peau concealer on the rapidly forming shadows underneath my eyes. The second the elevator comes to a halt on the ground floor, I run over to the concierge to tell him to get me a car.

I should have called ahead to reserve a car, but I was hooked on a book – _The Encyclopedia of the Dead_. I forgot about time, really a problem of mine since I was a little girl, and as much as my mother tried to drill the importance of punctuality into my system, I never fully mastered it. As a result, I'm running perpetually late.

Today I'm late for the Prada show. My feet are killing me, but my luggage is still lost and so I'm stuck wearing shoes from yesterday's show. My five-inch come-fuck-me heels are giving me a big fat blister on my toe. I can feel it forming. I straighten up and ignore the pain.

The traffic outside is a disaster. Nothing is moving and I'm slowly losing patience with the frantically whistling bellboy. Walking might be faster, but also more hazardous considering aforementioned murderous shoes. On an illogical whim, I decide to take a chance and attempt to walk.

I'm barely turning the corner near the hotel when I notice it. _Again_. It's the same thing day after day since I got here, sweet smells and the strong feeling that someone is watching me. I even feel it in my hotel room at night. It's creepy. I get gooseflesh just thinking about it.

Sometimes one lonely _and_ desperate paparazzo is following me, but usually not in Milan, during fashion week, no less. There are way more important people than me in town this week. I'm just an average coat hanger for overpriced clothes and I've only headlined one successful print campaign. I'm a small fish in a pond full of big ones. I doubt it's a paparazzo.

This feeling I have is more intense too … different … it's more than just someone running after me.

I pick up my pace, strutting my stuff as fast as I can along Via Della Spiga when the feeling intensifies. Turning my head for a second, I swear I see someone pull into the entryway of a building. The visual is a relief. At least it's not just in my head; someone is following me. That's all. I'm not crazy, though famine is getting me there fast. I contemplate confronting this stalker and telling him to shove it, but now is not the time.

I don't watch where I'm going and promptly trip. There's a crunching sound.

"Oh, fucking shit!" I yell. I'm standing on one foot, inspecting the broken heel of my …what does it say? – Ah-yah, Gucci shoes. My ankle hurts like hell. I'm near tears and blink them away quickly. The last thing I need is to ruin my complexion, sending the make-up artist into a frenzy trying to cover up my blotchy skin. Propping myself up against a streetlight, I see out of the corner of my eye a shadow moving behind a car next to me. I ignore it.

A glance at my phone tells me, I'm now officially late. Upon my return to New York Felix will have me for breakfast along with a portion of his undercooked steal-cut oats that looks like barf.

I jump on one foot between the parked cars into the street to see whether I can grab a cab when I bump into something hard as rock, but oddly, covered in suede, and smelling like mmmh…. crème brûlée with lavender and possibly… yes, fresh vanilla cupcakes with butter cream from Magnolia (I had two bites of one three months ago). I can feel my empty stomach rebel and growl in protest.

_Fuck!_

"Ouch," I murmur, already feeling a bruise the size of Africa forming on my arm from the tumble I took against the marble statute.

I glance up and see Man-Candy from the airport looking down at me with furrowed brows while steadying me with his arms. Nice. I inhale and it hits me. "Wait, have you been following me?" I blurt out.

Suspiciously, he doesn't answer.

"Do you speak?" – Nothing.

"Parla inglese?" – Zilch.

I roll my eyes. Man-Candy looks like he's in pain. "I'd offer you an Advil, but I have to go. I'm late. If you're the creep who's been following me – stop!"

"Isabella," Man-Candy whispers in a velvety sweet voice with a mocking smirk on his lips.

"Ah, he does speak! Do I know you from somewhere?" I cock an eyebrow at him questioningly, but he's mum again. _The smell is killing me!_ "Listen, I don't know why you know my name or why you feel the need to follow me, but lemme me tell you – stalking is not the way into a girl's panties – if you catch my drift. Now let go of me," I say in the stern voice I usually reserve for Felix's Great Dane when he attempts to hump me. I'm being presumptuous, but that grin on his face is so superior and smug that I feel compelled to wipe it off. _Who the hell does he think he is?_

Man-Candy who smells like coffee … and fresh strawberries dipped in chocolate at that exact moment drops my arm like a hot potato and I stumble.

"Jeez."

"I apologize if I have done anything to offend you, Isabella," he says in his barely audible, husky voice. The grin is still there. That's one half-ass apology he's delivering. _And who talks like that?_

"Offended?" He nods, and attempts to look ashamed_. Oh, please!_ The boy needs to learn how to lie. He's not sorry. He's flirting. I can even see it shimmering in his caramel colored eyes. I shake my head. "Maybe freaked out." I inhale deeply. "You smell fucking awesome, but I gotta run now." I step around him and see a cab driving by.

"Taxi," I yell, jump on hastily toward the street.

Where the hell do I know Man-Candy from, I wonder again sitting in the car. Then it hits me: high school. As strange as it sounds, considering I spent those years in a rainy little town in the middle of nowhere, but that's where I've last seen him. Man-Candy sat next to me in bio, looking exactly the same.

He stared at me every class, much the same way he had at the airport. A first I was thrilled, thinking he liked me. I mean it's not like I was anything to look at in high school. No ass, no tits, and taller than most of the boys in my school. There wasn't exactly a line of admirers forming waiting to take me to prom. So, yeah, I'm not going to lie, of course, I was excited at first when a cute guy, who was incidentally also taller than me, gave me a second glance. But then that's _all_ he ever did and it got old fast; particularly since every time I tried to start a conversation with him, he looked like he was going to be sick and turned his head away. Let's just say, my encounters with him weren't exactly an ego boost in the end. I was relieved when the semester was over, and then, senior year, his entire clan moved to Alaska, of all places. All in all, Man-Candy only spent a year in Forks, but his abrupt departure left nearly all the girls, and some of the boys, devastated.

What was his name again? Edwin? Ethan? I make a mental note to call Jessica Stanley, the only person from high school I'm still in touch with. I think she was totally into him back then too. As a matter of fact, I think she only befriended me junior year after she found out whom I sat next to during aforementioned bio class. I didn't mind. She's dumb, but good fun and nice when drunk. She can name every single idiot we went to school with, including their parents' first names and any pets' names. She'd know, no doubt.

"Isabella, why are you late? And for heaven's sake what did you do to those poor shoes?" Heidi, the ambitious skeleton, asks as I sit down in a chair next to her. Some guy starts pulling my hair in all directions, while another one cakes on layers of make up.

"Ugh, I was reading…"

"What? Vogue or People?"

"Neither." Heidi is only focused on the freak-show-industry we're part of. "And then I couldn't find a cab. I'm so hungry," I lament.

"I told you ages ago how to solve that problem," she sighs, inspecting her newly augmented lips in the mirror. I know what she's referring to. Heidi has a whole assortment of pills, powders and god knows what to make sure she never feels the hunger. That bitch will stop at nothing.

"No, thanks."

"Whatever! Suit yourself." She rolls her eyes. Heidi thinks I'm arrogant and stuck up for declining her offer. I don't care. My body is already a starved wreck; any further damage and I might fall apart. And really? Who needs a perpetually drippy nose? I'm abstaining through sheer willpower.

Muccia's assistant finds me two pairs of shoes after the show, but before I get to check them out, Heidi has taken one pair for herself. The pair that's left is unfortunately a size too small. No matter, I grind my teeth together and bear the pain, running to my next appointment, a fitting at Giorgio's studio.

His assistant's hands are not delicate and she manages to poke me several times with the needles she uses to adjust the dress I'm supposed to wear at tomorrow's show. It's an honor actually; I'll be wearing his wedding dress. Heidi will be green with envy when she finds out.

After hours of walking, hair pulling and listening to gossip, I step into the cold air and light a cigarette. My phone is ringing.

"Yes, Felix," I answer automatically, not even checking the screen for his caller id.

"Is that the only person who still calls you?" Jessica snarks.

"Yeah, and you, of course."

"Where are you? It's Jane's birthday and you promised you'd come to her party tonight."

"Yeah, not likely. I'm in Milan for fashion week. I meant to call you. Sorry."

"No biggie."

"Jess, do you remember the name of the guy who sat next to me next to me in bio? You know the strange family –"

"Edward-fucking-Cullen, Bella! How can you not remember? He was like the _only_ hot guy in the entire school! Did you run into him? Is he still hot? Some guys don't age well, but with his bone structure …" Jessica digresses.

"Right, right. Yeah, I ran into him at the airport…he's still attractive … but whatever. Listen Jess, I gotta run to the hotel room to change for dinner."

"Must be nice living the life of the rich & famous." I roll my eyes and hang up.

Before I can finish my cigarette in peace, the phone rings again.

"Yes," I answer.

"It's Heidi. Listen, I'm skipping dinner at Gold…but there's a party later on. Come with?"

"I need at least a salad. Otherwise I might collapse. Talk to you tomorrow," I tell her and hang up. If there's not even some rabbit food in it for me in the near future, I rather go back to my hotel room. I'll engage in my favorite pastime behavior: ordering a bunch of stuff off the hotel menu and have one spoon full of each while watching a bad soap opera or reading a book. I'm giddy imagining the possibilities. I'd kill for a bite of risotto Milanese with Osso Buco…and a fork full of lovely squid pasta with spicy tomato sauce…mmmmh. Maybe even a bite of vanilla soufflé?

Leaning against the cold wall, I light another cigarette.

"You smoke?" I hear his mellow voice come out of nowhere and shriek. He's standing right next to me without me ever having noticed his approach.

"Shit, you scared me, Edward! Didn't I just tell you about not following people around? And lurking in the dark … really? What's wrong with you?"

His lanky frame is leaning against the wall and he actually has the nerve to chuckle. I can't decide whether I want to rip his throat out, or lick him, because right now the smell of fresh pancakes is emanating from his shirt.

"What?"

"You remember me now."

"I sort of did before, you know?" I huff. "Just not your name, but luckily Jessica remembers you very well." I turn to my side to face him and find his mouth curled up in distaste, like he just bid on a piece of cartilage.

"Yes, I remember that girl. Her mind was always in the gutter."

I exhale smoke into his face. "And you'd know that how? I can't remember you being friendly with anyone at school."

"I had the displeasure of listening in, you could say."

"Huh?" I'm not sure what he's talking about, which is possibly why I don't protest when he reaches for my cigarette with his long, elegant fingers, takes it out of my hand and inspects it.

"These kill you."

"No, really? That's total news to me." I stretch my hand out to grab my cigarette back when my fingers accidentally touch his hand. His skin feels smooth and cool. I'll have to ask him about his skin care regimen. Maybe a special hand cream?

Edward jerks his hand back quickly before offering me the cigarette pinched between two fingers. "You've changed," he observes coolly.

"Jeez Louise, it's been three years since high school, so yeah, I've changed." I cringe at the mental image of me as a teenager he probably has stuck in his head.

"I'm not talking about the obvious physical changes." He looks at me appraisingly, pursing his lips and I can feel a blush coming on. He smirks. "You never swore in high school."

"Oh, well you got me there. Tell me again, why are you following me?"

"I can't seem to stay away from you anymore."

"That makes zero sense." I shake my head, kill the cigarette with my heel and look at him. "Well, it was nice chatting with you, Edward, but I've got stuff to do. So…I'm going to head back to my hotel."

"May I offer you a ride?" I hesitate for a second; my feet are still killing me, but so is the smell of something very edible. "I don't mean to scare you, but I can assure you that there are more dangerous things out there than me." He inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring.

"Yeah, right. Good line, but coming from you? You really expect me to get into a car with my stalker instead of a cab?" I take one more step and he follows me. He's so close that I can feel his breath on me. I make the mistake of inhaling deeply, detecting the scent of French toast and maple syrup. I don't know what's worse anymore: the pain from my empty stomach or the one from my feet.

"It would make me feel better," he breathes. My eyes flutter and close for a second.

"You're not helping your case," I whisper.

"Please?" Edward has a pleading expression on his face that makes him look like he's still seventeen. It's kind of cute. The street were standing on is devoid of traffic. No taxi in sight.

"Fine."

In one stealthy fluid move, he's by my side guiding me to his car.

"Nice ride. Not your typical rental," I comment as I slip past the door of the Alfa Romeo Spider he's holding open for me.

"Thank you."

"What are you wearing? You smell so ... good," I ask as we drive, inhaling the scent of cookie dough. I lean closer to him and the scent intensifies.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He's giving me a lopsided grin, which I'm discovering these days has has zero effect on me. In high school, his rare but occasional smiles used to get me all hot and bothered. But now? _Meh_. Not so much. His smell on the other hand…

"So what are you doing in Milan? Shouldn't you be in college or something?"

"I graduated early. Alice, my sister, wanted to attend some fashion shows."

"I see. Lucky you. Alice? I know you had sisters…a blond and a dark haired one, right?"

"The dark haired one would be Alice," he tells me.

I remember – the little girl who dressed like a tart in high school. Her skirts barely covered her ass and the shirts were so low-cut that the guys got a nice view of her non-existent cleavage without making an effort. From the looks of clothes, I could've sworn she bought the stuff at Forever21, but then I noticed the labels on one of her sweaters peeking out. _Jean Paul Gaultier_. Loads of cash but no taste. Go figure that she's attending fashion shows now.

Beside salivating, I'm also getting bitter as I sit next to him. Of course his ass graduated early, while I haven't even started college. I need to get out of the car. He pulls up in front of my hotel and I'm about to bolt when he turns to me.

"May I take you out to dinner some time, Isabella?"

"Bella."

He furrows his brows.

"It's Bella. Not Isabella. And I can't."

"Can't or won't have dinner with me?"

"I can't. Food and me – we're enemies these days. No can do." Sitting across from a guy who can probably shuffle in masses of tasty delights without gaining an ounce is only going to make me feel like shit and want to eat. But I can't. I shake my head and catch him frowning. "But you smell lovely," I say and get out of the car.

"Bella?"

"Yes?"

"Maybe a movie then?"

"I don't speak Italian."

"We could take a walk? How about 8 o'clock tomorrow night? I'll pick you up."

"Good night, stalker!" I shout before turning around and walking to the hotel entrance.

"Good night, Bella."

I sprint to the elevator, excited about ordering room service. I order Ahi tuna carpattio with basil pesto, spaghetti carbonara and chocolate soufflé. I'm savoring each tiny bite. After my allotted servings, I still have an undeniable hankering for something sweet. I'm usually quite disciplined and even the Chef is taken aback when I call to beg him to prepare crème brûlée for me. It's not on the menu, and at first he puts up a fight. Naturally, he relents. Nobody is immune to the charms of a starving girl.

For a good ten minutes, I stare at the small white dish covered by a luscious caramel crust promising a creamy yummy delight below. After feasting on it with my eyes, I crack the sugary crust with a spoon and take a bite and then another one … and another … another…so sweet….

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**Thank you for reading. Of course – this story is not meant to be taken seriously. **

**Someone has nominated my story Du Temps Perdu for Best Smut & Best Tear Jerker at this site** http:/thehiddenstarawards(dot)blogspot(dot)com/

**So I just wanted to say "Thank you!" to whoever nominated the story!**


	3. Chapter 3 Boar & Badger

Thx to **Kcerena & Kisvakondok **for pre-reading.

**Reamhar **betas this – I owe her many thanks for reading & correcting my shit.

**I don't own Twilight. **

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**3. Boar & Badger**

_**At night, somewhere in the Lombardian countryside…**_

"See, I told you you'd be able to resist," Alice taunts me as I drain a disgusting old boar.

"Barely."

"It would be all over already, if you hadn't run away like pansy back then…she'd already be -"

"Spare me, Alice. Really." I lick my lips hungrily, the memory of her scent making my throat burn.

"You'll be fine, Edward. You smell like candy to her and she is one hungry girl these days. She won't be able to resist for long."

To my irritation, the little pest starts laughing loudly.

"What?" I snarl.

"I bet she's the only girl who doesn't think of sex when she sees you!"

I don't know why I agreed to go hunting with her. The girl is a pain in my ass. If only I could convince her to devote her attention to something other than my non-existent sex life.

I detect a badger not too far away and go for it. I'm full and should stop, but better be safe than sorry.

Bella's blood has always been the most alluring to me; she is my singer after all. It took all of my willpower and plenty of mountain lions, deer, and other indigenous animals not to devour her during high school. Unfortunately northern Italy's fauna isn't quite so plentiful; civilization has decimated it; carnivores are rare and the damn herbivores don't satisfy. Hence, I feel the burn more.

"Not that you would know what she's thinking…" Alice muses, still giggling. I want to strangle her.

Her silent mind…well, it used to be frustrating in high school. I didn't care to hear the minds of various dimwits at school but was forced to listen anyway, and yet Bella's mind – a mind I longed to hear – was barred to me. Mostly though it was more of an annoyance than anything else since other signs gave her away clearly. Like nearly all of the female population in Forks, Bella's heart would flutter and the slight aroma of her arousal used to be easily detectible when I was near – "used to" being the operative words.

Now I can't smell anything but her sweet blood pulsing through her veins. My appearance doesn't seem to have the desired effect it has on so many other humans anymore. Alice of course has picked up on it on the flight over here.

"Very funny," I grumble, draining the badger.

"It is! You can take it slow and convince her. And think of the advantages of her diet! She'll be one of a few humans you can sit in a restaurant with and it won't even seem strange to her that you don't eat."

"Just shut up! She said she doesn't want to go out for dinner with me."

"Maybe she assumed you'd be eating?" She smiles at me, but then shakes her head. "Well … like I said, you should have just gotten it over with –"

"Not that story again! You're not helping and you're starting to sound like a broken record."

"Oh, Edward. You are so lamo. I'm not even sure they even make records any longer. Grandpa! Besides, you and I both know that there's only one person out there for you. It's her. You knew it back then, but blew it."

_Not her theory about vampire monogamy and the single mate syndrome again_.

Secretly though, I've been starting to wonder whether she's right about some of the things she says. Not about the theory that vampires have only one mate who perfectly matches them. That's boloney. The Volturi, the oldest vampire clan, appear to value their extra-marital affairs highly. But maybe I should have talked to her back then, given into the desire to figure her out while I had something to work with. Maybe I could have convinced her…but no, I was too much of a sanctimonious prick, convinced that no sane human being would ever agree to be changed into a vampire – a vampire draining various lower life forms to continue its miserable existence.

Clearly, I haven't found anybody else who calls to me just the way she does, which is why I still hang out with Alice and the rest of my family.

I remember sixteen-year-old Bella like it was yesterday. Tall, skinny, with clothes always too short, she'd been unfortunate looking, if not ugly, to the eyes of the average high school male. Of course, I'd been mesmerized by her. Once you looked past the jeans, which stopped short at the ankle, the sweaters that tended to hitch up her bony forearms and the smell of cheap, cloying strawberry shampoo, her features were quite exquisite. Needless to say, it didn't come as a surprise to me when Alice informed me one night at the Denali's that Bella had been discovered by a modeling agency and was soon to walk the runways.

Alice is correct about one assessment: I'd acted like a pansy back then. I did have a good excuse though.

See, the thing is, I'd walked through the first ninety years of my life without ever experiencing anything other than bloodlust. The desires that usually hold the mind of hormonal teenage boys' captive had evaded me until I met Bella. She'd bewitched me in every sense. Not only did she smell like the most appetizing human in the world to me, but she'd also awakened my physical lust for the opposite sex with a vengeance.

The minute I'd realized just how screwed I was, I regretted my decision to turn down Tanya on numerous prior occasions. If I hadn't, I would have had something to work with.

_Yeah, give it to me – I'm a moron – a repressed on at that! Turning down freely offered … let's not go there._

"Hello, earth calling Edward! Let's go home." Alice starts pulling me out of my reverie by tugging my jacket with determination and waving one hand in front of my face. I drop the drained badger on the ground and jog with her to her Porsche.

"You can drop me off here," I instruct as we reach the city limits.

"Not again!" She sighs and rolls her eyes in exasperation.

"What?" I raise my eyebrows at her, feigning ignorance.

"Please, you're not fooling anyone. Besides, it's not a good idea."

"Why?"

"Because she knows that you've been following her and she's started associating you with the smell of food. She's already freaked out about your stalking behavior, so don't add fuel to fire by spending yet another night in her room staring at her. It's pathetic to boot."

Watching Bella has become an obsession of mine since our arrival in Milan, just like it had been in Forks. I spent hours near her every day, watching her do mundane things, like taking a shower, eating and sleeping. In fact, my behavior, which was viewed by my family as completely OCD back in Forks, requiring secessions with a psychiatrist, followed by psychoanalysis and a year of behavioral modification therapy, partially led to our early departure from aforementioned rain covered town. Well, that … and the fact that Jasper had almost drained some girl when she scraped her knee on the school parking lot. He's the only member of our little family who wasn't raised on a _vegetarian_ diet, i.e. sucking wildlife dry, and so occasionally he falls off the wagon.

Fortunately things have changed … or not. Well, they have certainly changed; it's the "fortunate" part I'm not so sure about on second thought. There's nothing that can keep me away from her now. Carlisle and Esme have given up on curing me of my obsession (even the shrink they'd hired in high school, a 500 year old ace in the field, had agreed that I was indeed a hopeless case –incurable). Her dad is nowhere in sight and she doesn't appear to have many friends. Her opulent, private suit offers too much opportunity to overindulge. And to be frank, I'm prone to that vice. I'm tempted to spend every minute of the day near her.

"Come home for once. Nobody has seen you since we got here. And you sat on her balcony until she went to sleep. She's not going to be up for a couple of more hours. I don't understand why you like to watch her sleep anyway. Doesn't it get boring?"

It never does, but I don't say it.

Until the fateful flight three days ago, I hadn't laid eyes on her in three years, eight months, six days, twenty hours, twenty-six minutes and forty-one seconds.

After our departure from Forks, we stayed in Alaska for a year before starting over as freshmen at Dartmouth. I was bored after a semester and stopped going to classes, but stayed with the family because I had nowhere else to be, not because I enjoyed our perpetual _togetherness._ Much like humans, we can't really pick our family. Carlisle just happened to be our maker and so we all got stuck with him.

Due to his humanitarian streak, he only turns people into vampires when they are about to expire. As a result, we are quite a mismatched bunch.

Esme was the first to join him after her botched suicide attempt. I guess Carlisle envisioned her to be his mate and his mate she did become. Her first and true love though is travel and buying dumpy houses to fix. She's barely ever around, instead traveling from country to country buying and fixing dilapidated properties. Dear Carlisle spends most of his time by himself, working endless hours in hospitals. It's yet another reason why I don't by into Alice's logic about there being only one mate for every vampire. I sometimes doubt Esme could care less what Carlisle is up too, so long as he pays her bills. If he'd somehow disappear, she'd just look for another man with deep pockets.

During one of Esme's month long trips in search for the next perfect remodeling project, a lonely Carlisle stumbled upon my sick body. He turned me before I had a chance to succumb to the flu, figuring a teenage son would bring out Esme's maternal instinct and keep her at home more frequently. I wish it would have been a battle wound, tuberculosis or something more fierce with more drama, but no, the flu.

Needless to say the trick didn't work on Esme. She stayed in Chicago for as long as it took to fix up their apartment and ditched town just as the winter arrived, leaving Carlisle alone with the task of teaching me about their dietary habits. I was a handful, I admit. Even revolted and left the tribe for a while. But Carlisle was never one to give up easily. So he tried one more time. Alice was changed before a scheduled lobotomy at an insane asylum. She has visions of the future, which is why they institutionalized her when she was a human. Her abilities became more or less stronger once she was transformed, allowing her to predict the ups and downs of the market with accuracy. Needless to say, our clan has amassed a lot of wealth since her transformation. I guess her abilities make her halfway useful, though I still doubt her sanity. Those doctors were on to something in my opinion. You have to take the visions with a grain of salt too. Not everything always goes according to her predictions.

First case in point: Rosalie.

One fine day in 1969, Alice had a vision that she claimed showed her the woman who would become my mate. Nobody of course told me about it until it was too late. One look at Rosalie and I could have told them that Alice must have bitten into a sick animal or something, and was suffering from some form of food poisoning when she predicted that I'd end up with Rose.

On top of having the most whiny and annoying personality, Rose was also about 200 pounds overweight when she was changed after a mishap while frying a turkey for Thanksgiving in her trailer in Memphis, Tennessee. The transformation generally makes the average human more attractive; of course it didn't do the trick for Rosalie. She's still fat as a house, with an awful perm and the most grading accent. No way in hell would I go for that. But no, they listened to Alice. She'd be the one.

_Yeah, right._

Over the years, both girls managed to find someone who liked them well enough to share a bed with them. Beats me how. Alice found Jasper, a disturbed civil war soldier, and Rose found Emmett, a formerly chubby child actor who'd succumbed to an unfortunate addiction to methamphetamines before he was changed. When Rose carried Emmett to Carlisle, he'd spent a week on a fender bender of nothing but pure meth and cigarettes. His skinny frame brings out Rose's fullness wonderfully.

Emmett was the last addition to the family in 1980. Carlisle has long given up on creating grown up "children." To my dismay, Esme and Alice haven't given up on finding me a mate, i.e. convincing me to find Bella.

I've resisted so far, hoping that one day I'd just find another female vampire who'd fill the void. So far, none have seemed appealing enough. I don't know what it is, but none of them even get me excited, for lack of a better term. Only her.

About six months ago, Esme bought some ruins not too far outside of Milan that she started rebuilding. Carlisle joined Esme about three months prior and when Alice casually suggested a week ago to visit them before they returned to New Hampshire, I didn't think anything of it. Until I saw the wicked grin on her face when we arrived at JFK and I smelled Bella. She'd planned this whole thing.

"If you absolutely must, go to one of her shows tomorrow. She won't notice your smell as much and she'll be wearing a pretty white dress," she says with a loud sigh. "I'm only trying to help."

"Stop, okay?"

"Come see Esme for an hour or so. You know how she is."

Esme's hovering is the last thing I need right now, but since I'll need Alice's help eventually, I decide to throw her a bone.

"I'll come," I agree half-heartedly.

During the past days, I snuck into the house a couple of times to change clothes, but hadn't bothered to announce my presence to anyone. Maybe a shower isn't a bad idea either. I swear I can detect a faint hint of badger coming from my skin.

"Edward!" Esme pulls me into a tight, suffocating hug five minutes later. "How have you been?" The sappy expression on her face, as if I'm someone to be pitied, is killing me.

"Fine."

"I can tell you are lying, but you can't hide your pain from me," she says with a dramatic sigh. As I feared, the news that I ran into the only person I was ever interested in has sent her matchmaking ambitions into overdrive. "Have you spoken to her yet?"

I roll my eyes.

"Yes, he has!" Alice answers with way too much excitement in her voice.

"Tell me all about it!"

"There's nothing to tell." I head upstairs to my guest room, bypassing the rest of the family quickly, with Esme unfortunately trailing closely on my heels.

"But surely you must have something to report. I'm worried about you…your situation…well, it's just not natural!"

Esme has the nerve to follow me into my room and to stare at me with her arms crossed over her chest. "All this pent up energy and longing. It's not healthy! Not for humans and particularly not for our kind!"

"I'd like to take a shower. Do you mind?" I say with more venom in my voice than intended, pulling my shirt off. She huffs in indignation but leaves.

_It's not healthy…_

_Don't I know it, woman!_

Just one thought about Isabella in her silky dark blue bra, spread out on Egyptian cotton sheets, and the bulge straining against my jeans becomes painful.

I rid myself of the offending fabric and step into the hot shower. It feels like it's all I do these days: drain lower forms of wildlife and masturbate.

My mind wonders back to the last images I saw tonight of Isabella. Dressed in nothing but lingerie, she ate some appalling smelling, human desert out of a small, white porcelain dish. The sight of her made me hard, but it was the noises emanating from her pouty red lips that made me almost come in my pants. I grab my hard as steel cock, pull my foreskin back, revealing the darker tip and start stroking myself imagining that my dick is the spoon she was licking.

I feel like a perv when I'm done. Awful. Really.

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	4. Chapter 4 The Poodle

**Reamhar is my beta for this. Any remaining errors – my fault.**

**I don't own Twilight.**

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**4. The Poodle**

_**Milan**_

I'm in a bit of a pickle – my throat burns _and_ I'm pants are too tight due to the see-through white dress Bella is wearing on the runway today; a bad combination and I'm not sure I can remedy either one of these problems until much later. Upon Carlisle's suggestion I picked up some rats for breakfast (I'd like to emphasize: not my idea). The consistency of the blood itself was revolting: thick and sandy. The taste reminded me of rotten human food. My stomach is not feeling too well – and that's an understatement. I've been debating for the last half hour whether I should run to the bathroom to upchuck aforementioned breakfast snack.

_As if spending the morning hours with my insufferable family wasn't enough to make anybody sick…_

After listening to Carlisle's speech about the scarcity of food sources in the urban environment and his survival strategies for the undead for a good hour, I was dying to get out of the place. Enduring any of the members of my family would have seriously killed my otherwise fairly upbeat mood since I'd run back into Bella. Luckily, I managed to avoid Alice and Jasper altogether, and Rose and Emmett were occupied: she, watching the home shopping network, he, braiding her hair. Both minds blissfully blank. Esme was busy searching property sites for her next project. What else is new?

I wasted no time, running out of there and tracking down Bella on her way to her first assignment for the day. Heeding Alice's warnings, I made sure to keep my distance, but I swear I heard her stomach growl from a mile away (not sure whether I was the cause of it).

The show is almost over now. Apparently the white dress was the last piece. She has one more show to go to after this. I'm about to ditch the place when I become privy to some unsavory thoughts by one of the other models about Bella's behind. At first I barely listen, but then the girl's thoughts turn outright vicious. I'm not pleased, to say the least. The girl is green with envy about that see-through number my girl is donning and plans to tell Bella that her ass looked fat in it. Anybody telling her she's gained so much as an ounce would send her even deeper into starvation mode – just what I'm trying to avoid. If my goal is to get laid, the girl will need to eat, I'm certain of that. Right now, all I am to her is a wonderfully flavored Popsicle. I resolve that I can't let that disgruntled little girl disrupt my plans and decide to take action.

If I don't, I fear I'll end up masturbating until the cows come home … then I'd possible have to drain the cows … well … and I can't let that happen.

I hide near a clothe rack backstage and when she walks past me, I toss a shirt over her head and stuff her into a empty room nobody seems to be using. I do this all of course in record speed and by the time she starts yelling bloody murder and thinks about kicking me in the crotch, I'm a safe distance away and the door is locked.

She's already forgotten about Bella by when I exit the building.

I know Bella has one more show for which Alice couldn't obtain an invite and that means I have another hour to kill before our rendezvous tonight. I've decided based on the chat with my coo-coo sister that I'm going to feed her tonight, whether she wants to or not. Maybe once she's no longer hungry, maybe I can detect something other than her blood.

Speaking of blood – now is as good time as any for me to look for another snack.

I detect the smell of a meat-eating mammal…not rat…not mouse…

I spot a tall guy with hideous designer specs dressed in pants that look too small and tight to be comfortable, holding on loosely to a leach with a King Poodle on it. Hideous creatures, both of them, but at least the poodle's head isn't as polluted. The guy apparently wants to tie me to his bed and stuff a rolling pin up my ass.

Not up my alley. Not the way _I roll_.

Generally, I can handle the minds of mild mannered gay men who want to dine me, bring me flowers and pinch my nipples, but this one? I have to draw a line at kitchen appliances. I'm appalled.

The poodle is only contemplating one thing: canned food consisting of ground up bone meal with a minimal amount of processed meat.

But there's some meat.

Would poodle be an acceptable addition to my diet? Maybe I should call Carlisle? I decide not to. I don't care to listen to his preachy voice again today. I don't have time to hunt for something better, so the poodle will do.

Thankfully the perv drops said poodle off at an empty apartment and runs out of listening distance. I break into the apartment without much effort. The poodle barks.

For an overly domesticated creature, its instincts work well. I'm impressed. It doesn't shut up, its sounds alternating between high-pitched barks and low growls.

I pause for a brief moment before grabbing the animal and draining it. The thing tastes bad with a slight metallic aftertaste, but better than the rat I had for breakfast. Overall, not a bad substitute, I conclude. A mountain lion would of course be preferable, but I'm not kidding myself; I'm definitely not going to find a carnivore like that anywhere close…unless…ummm…

Before leaving the place, I toss the remaining skin covered in white curls and flesh into the fireplace and make a quick fire. The stink forces me to lean out the window until the carcass is burned. I can't believe I drank that.

Before I leave, I wash my hands and face and stare into the mirror with self-loathing.

Draining ugly pets … it's a sad state of affairs. Not that chasing after wildlife in this region is challenging or fun.

'_Look at what you just did!'_ my conscience screams at me, '_and you want her to become one of your kind? _

I'd keep her human once I gain her affection and trust, if it was an option. Unfortunately, I know it's not since I wouldn't be able to resist her blood. There's also the problem of the Volturi rules, which we all have to follow. One of them requires that once disclosure of our existences has been revealed to a human, we have to kill them or change them.

Breaking into a blood bank might be better than drying out pets, but the eye color? Freaky. Never mind that once you start on a "human" diet, you'll have difficultly stopping. Let's just say, the withdrawal symptoms are not fun.

Better stick to animals. I take some unnecessary breaths, mediate and stroll casually out of the building. Life could be worse.

~000~

I can smell her scent in the air before I see her. I wait patiently at the hotel's entrance until I see her approaching. She has some skimpy mini-dress on and high-heeled boots, leaving half the guys drooling in her wake as she struts with determination toward the hotel entrance. These days I actually appear to have competition though she doesn't seem to be paying them any mind either.

"Bella," I say, barely loud enough for her to hear when she's about to pass me.

"Mmmh?" She looks at me like she wasn't expecting me. "Oh, you again."

I give her the grin. No reaction.

_Move on to a new trick, Cullen. _

"I said I'd be here tonight." I pause and listen to the reliable gurgling sound of her stomach acid. "You look hungry. Actually, you sound hungry too."

She stares at me, wide-eyed.

"May I?" I carefully grab her arm.

"Not a restaurant. I can't."

"I believe you said so last night."

"If you think I'm going up to a room or your apartment with you, you're wrong."

I chuckle. I see her bra peaking out from her grey dress. I swallow, close my eyes and take a minute.

"My plans were more … cultured, you could say."

"What?" She cocks an eyebrow at me. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"It's just a casual date, Isabella. Old high school friends catching up. Humor me. It will be fun. You'll see," I whisper near her neck. Goosebumps rise on her skin. A good sign, I think, but still no sure sign that she actually finds me attractive in any sort of way. It might just be my cold breath that's causing her hairs to rise.

For a moment I think she might actually protest again, but then she simply nods and follows me and we get into my car.

"You know they have speed limits in Italy?" She's eyeing the speedometer with a blank expression on her face.

I smile. The sweet, luscious scent of her blood is filling the car. My throat is itching and my jeans feel tight, but in comparison to her I look perfectly relaxed. She's sitting straight as an arrow, clutching the seat and the door handle. I can't detect fear though, only the sound of her stomach growling.

"Would you feel more comfortable if I'd slow down?"

"No. Keep it going. I don't mind. How much farther?" she asks, as I am about to pull up in front of our destination for the evening.

"We're here actually." Her hand pulls the lever to open the door the second the car comes to a stop and she jumps out. I get out of the car at humanly acceptable speed and stand next to her. "Shall we?" I point to the entrance of the old building in front of us.

She walks along beside me with her perfect, graceful runway strut.

"Buona sera," I greet the doorman. He knows me from this afternoon when I made the reservation.

"What is this? I told you I'm not going to your apartment," she's hisses.

"Senor Cullen." The doorman nods.

"I don't live here. In fact, I believe the building is strictly used for commercial purposes." I point to the signs of businesses near the entryway. "My intentions are completely harmless. I'm bored in this town. My nightly excursions are leaving something to be desired. So?"

I'm not even lying.

"Listen, Cullen. I don't know why you're so intent on hanging out with me, because God knows we were never friends in high school—"

"And I'm trying to remedy that now," I tell her as we step in the elevator. Another smile. Still nothing, but at least she's not running in the other direction. Yet.

The door opens and she stares at the sign near the door.

_La Cuccina_

I motion for the door and Senora Coppola is opening the door just as we exit the old-fashioned wrought iron gates of the antique machine.

"Senor Cullen. So pleased to have you here tonight! Is this the lovely lady who will be cooking with us tonight?" She smiles at me while drying her fingers on her apron. She inspects Bella and I can see her grandmotherly instinct kicking in. She wants to fatten her up just as much as I do. "Welcome! We'll have fun tonight and I promise you'll get to taste everything we're making."

Bella smirks at the Senora Coppola as she shakes her hand.

"Just to warn you, I don't know how to cook and I am blessed with two left hands," Bella says with a smile on her face the minute we're shown into the big industrial kitchen where several other students have already gathered.

"I'm sure it's not that bad," I say in a low voice, as I take her coat and swear I hear a whimper. I inhale deeply, but smell nothing but her sweet blood.

"Oh, you have no idea! I hope blood doesn't scare you."

I cough. "No, not at all. Though I believe there will be minimal cutting involved. It's an introduction to Italian deserts course." I check out the table near us to confirm the absence of knifes.

'_I'd take a slice of that…ohlala … he looks so pretty.' _I hear. I hate the word pretty. Handsome I can handle. But pretty? No way.

I glance around, and locate the source: a red headed girl with too much makeup covering up unsightly acne scars, standing behind the steel table staring at me. If it weren't for my x-ray vision, she'd be mildly attractive. Unfortunately her blood also smells like old socks. I'll have to try extra hard to block her thoughts.

'_Look what the cat dragged in. Awoooo…wooo… bite her in the neck and mount her. I'll give her food and she'll be eating out of my paws in no time.' _I locate the source of that one quickly. A dark haired guy with a pony tale and the stench of wet dog is licking his fingers.

Maybe this wasn't a good idea?

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